Church of the Walking Dead
by Jim Wicket
Summary: A gang of survivors meets an unusual but protective cult leader. FEATURES ORIGINAL CHARACTERS set in the same world as TWD. Carl makes an appearance at the end.
1. Chapter 1

On a hot southern day, off a county road that hadn't seen cars in years, a walker snarled outside an abandoned drug store.

Vines grew throughout its body, pushing leaves through its face and ribcage. The walker had been still for so long that it was rooted in place. It was not still now, though, as it struggled forward with rotten, outstretched fingers.

Tommy lay underneath it. His foot had gotten caught on the other side of a busted storefront window, and now the walker was just a few feet above him, the vines snapping one by one.

Pike rushed in to kill it but two more walkers emerged from inside the store. She shifted her balance and stabbed the first one in the head as she sprung backwards. Then Hemingway used his farming gloves to reach inside the second one's mouth and rip the top of its head off.

They all stood catching their breath, except for Tommy, who was still on the ground with a walker hanging over him.

"Next time, when we've got a plan, you follow it," Keats said.

"I'm just trying to save some time," said Tommy.

"There's a reason we don't just barge into places," said Hemingway. "How the hell have you survived this long?"

In the woods beyond the parking lot, twigs began to snap. A ponytailed man with a golden retriever emerged from the trees.

"He's right, you know," he said. "The man with the bat, I mean. The time to protest a plan is before you enact it."

Keats and the rest readied their weapons.

"What'd you do with the others," said Keats.

"Your friends?" said the man. "They're right here. They're a little timid." He stepped to the side. Duck and Katie, the other two members of Keats' party, walked out at gunpoint.

"By the way," the man said to Hemingway, "where did you learn that technique? Ripping the head off? I haven't seen that one in a while."

"I was going to say the same thing about your rifles," he said. "You make the bullets yourself? Get lucky on a run?"

"I can hear those thoughts!" the man said with a laugh. "Thinking about taking us on? Trust me, friend, the guns are loaded. Now, tell me, what the hell are you doing breaking into one of our buildings?"

"Didn't see a sign," said Keats.

"What makes you think the rule of law doesn't apply just because it's the end of the world? Anyway, what are you looking for? Maybe we can help."

"Bug spray," said Keats.

"Bug spray! Lemme guess - you've got food and water, but you forgot about the damn mosquitoes. Is that why you're all covered in dirt?"

"We heard mosquitoe bites spread the plague," said Tommy. This brought a chuckle from the man's gang.

"That's not what spreads the plague," said the man. "We figured that out, as you will soon see."

The dog began to whine and bark softly. "Looks like we got company. Let's hit the road. Hang on to your weapons for now. We might need you to cover our flanks if we meet some walkers."

As the group gathered on the road, Keats said from the side of his mouth: "They could have killed us already."

"They might be waiting till their ready to eat us," said Pike.

"True. But I think they've got supplies. Who knows...maybe they just want to check us out, make sure we're good people."

Before Pike could respond, the man called out: "Let's move! Ol' Lady here's reliable, but it's tough to account for the wind and all that. Swarm could be a mile away or it might be 50 yards. By the way, my name's Flak." He marched ahead like a guide on a nature walk.

Everyone moved forward. After walking what felt like a couple of miles, Keats saw something on the road ahead: The gate for a tall, barbed wire fence next to sign welcoming them to Davis.


	2. Chapter 2

Keats' group had come together over the past five years.

At first it was just he and Hemingway. They met each other at a shelter that had held strong for eight years after the outbreak. The place was self-sustaining and well-guarded, but eventually, someone inside got infected, and the relative lack of security within the compound itself meant that it spread quickly. Neither Keats nor Hemingway had family, which is probably how they survived, as most people there got trapped after spending precious time rounding up loved ones.

They met Pike on the road a week later. She saved their lives by sharing her food with them, and they paid her back by ambushing the group of bandits that had been stalking her.

Pike was a good hunter, but the days on the road were hell. They'd meet occasional relief when they'd stumble across a camp, where they were welcomed because of Pike's skills, and when those camps collapsed (as they always did), they'd have a new member or two. Sometimes they were assets, sometimes they were burdens, and unfortunately, how valuable they were to the group rarely seemed to matter to fate. Just last week, for instance, they'd lost a nurse. The fighters usually survived, but survival needs more than fighters.

Keats relayed all of this to a man named Marco as they sat in a living room. He was short and thin and had an actor's broad, expressive face. He wore black slacks, a long sleeve dress shirt, neatly pressed, and a revolver in a holster.

"And your last camp," he said, "was overran?"

Keats nodded. "They had lookouts but underestimated how fast some of the hoards can be."

Marco laughed and nodded like a parent hearing a familiar comedy about someone else's child. "Oh yes, they're faster now! Less of them, so they're more nimble."

"I'm not sure if they're dying off or just spreading out," said Keats. "It's been 13 years and they're still out there. You'd figure they'd all rot, but they keep coming."

"We're doing what we can. We've currently got about one square mile of this neighborhood fenced off. Working on more. But eventually, we don't want the fences anymore. We want to take our planet back."

"Now that's a new one," said Keats. "The people you run into nowadays, they're day to day. Scavengers or predators. Nobody holding the big ideals anymore."

"We're different," said Marco, who spread his hands and smiled. "I'm different."

On the coffee table in front of them sat two tin cups full of homegrown tea. Marco picked one up and sipped it. "You ever wonder what drives them?" he said.

"Hunger, I guess."

"You think a severed head gets hungry? No, it's about more than that. It's hatred. They hate us."

Keats paused. "How do you know this?"

"I've witnessed it. And soon, you will too. But for now, it's suffice to say I'm convinced. And what can beat hatred?"

"Hell. More hatred?"

"Cynicism has kept you alive a long time," Marco said. "I don't blame you for relying on it. But you're wrong. It's love."


	3. Chapter 3

They emerged from the house and walked down the steps onto a quiet neighborhood street, Lady trotting behind them. The grass in all the yards was overgrown, but the sidewalks had been cleared of weeds by hand. Birds chirped in the late afternoon sunset and squirrels chased each other around trees. Flak and another man walked behind them with rifles, keeping guard.

They passed a house with a chicken coop. Hens clucked and pecked in the yard. The yard next to it had been converted into a small garden with beans and tomatoes growing.

"Looks like you've got quite a few of those little plots around," said Keats. "About how many folks you got to feed here?"

"Ha! Nice try. Let's just say: Enough to feel safe."

"Then what do you need us for? Why keep us prisoner?"

Marco grimaced. "Those aren't the words I'd use, but you're forgiven for seeing things from that perspective. We just want to make sure your stories check out and you're not going to do us any harm."

"So if we check out," said Keats, "we can go?"

"Of course. You have my word." Then Marco stopped and turned towards Keats. He grabbed him by the shoulders. "But if you want to stay, you can do that, too. We need all the help we can in this fight."

Keats didn't say anything. There was nothing he could say. Like it or not, using whatever vocabulary you want, they were prisoners. And when it came to bats and spears versus rifles, the rifles always won.

Marco smiled before they made their way to the house where Keats' group would be staying. It was a two-story brick town home with a makeshift wooden fence and an ancient, rusted Chevrolet in the driveway.

"This used to be what they called 'affordable housing,'" said Marco as they entered the yard. "But believe it or not, they make the best castles. Minimal windows. Fireproof. Door's made of solid steel."

Keats had made up his mind about what tact he wanted to take with Marco. He smiled for the first time and said: "Could be a lot worse. It's been - God, months since I've slept inside."

"Tonight won't be easy," said Marco. "You'll still wake up in the middle of the night. Force of habit. But who knows. Maybe you'll get used to it."

He turned to the men who'd been following them. "You've met Flak. This gentleman here is Cochise. They'll be taking care of your immediate needs. Get some rest, and we'll see you tomorrow." He walked away quickly like he still had lots of business he had to attend to in whatever daylight remained.

The rest of Keats' group joined him in the yard. Flak walked up and put his hands on his hips. He looked to be about 25 years old and had slate blue eyes. Like all survivors, he was rail thin, but his frame suggested an athletic past.

"Howdy," he said. "You want to know why we let you keep your weapons?" He looked at Jamie, who smiled at him. Jamie was a teenager who'd grown up in a post-outbreak shelter. She had long brown hair and was very pretty, but slouched forward a bit with the awkwardness that came with being her age.

No one in the group answered Flak. Besides Jamie, they either eyed him suspiciously or looked at the ground.

"Well, if there's one thing I've learned since the world ended," he said, "it's that you should never rely on a fence. So just in case you guys get a knock in the middle of the night from Mr. Walker, we know you can at least hold your own. Because when it comes to the undead, we're all on the same team, right?"

"Sure we're not just a front line?" said Hemingway. "Keep us out on the periphery, close to the fence, while you guys stay in the middle?"

"Now that doesn't sound like gratitude," said Flak. "You know we're feeding you, too, right? I'm coming back this evening with dinner. Now, why don't you all go inside, get yourselves settled in."

"Maybe we like it out here. Fresh air."

Flak stared at him, still with his sparkling smile. "You ask yourself how you'd treat a bunch of folks you'd never met before, with things the way they are nowadays."

Hemingway flexed his arms, straining the brown leather armor on his forearms. Keats stepped in. "We had a good talk," he said to Hemingway. Then to Flak: "We'll go in."

"Good," said Flak. "Be sure to clear the rooms first. You can never be too careful. And don't spoil dinner! It's a stew tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

The house was full of empty cans and other refuse from whomever had last used it as a shelter. To Keats, it seemed like a waste to throw away anything that had any potential for reuse. Then again, perhaps that's what long-term shelter did to people: It brought back wastefulness, one aspect of humanity that he'd been glad to assume extinct.

A steward had delivered half a barrel of water, and now Keats used some to clean off the river mud on his skin. He soaked a cloth and ran it along his arms, which were thin and veiny.

He looked into the hazy bathroom mirror and cleaned his face. It was a long, bony and not particularly handsome face, especially with the wild beard he now sported. But he did have kind eyes, and a pang of sadness hit him as he thought about everything he'd lost, most especially the fiancee who fell in love with those eyes and had been gleefully waiting for him to finish school when the world ended.

She was in North Carolina; he was in Florida. The last message he got about her was from her father, who texted that she'd been bitten by some "drug addict" and had to be hospitalized as a precaution.

He tried to call his own parents and couldn't get through. He tried texting but it failed. He remembered a gigantic line outside the one pay phone still operating in town. He recalled the sound of helicopters, which were unnerving at first but then reassuring as the news brought reports of growing civil unrest.

Then the power went out. That's when he decided to leave for North Carolina. That was 13 years ago - or was it? Every group they ran into had a different take on how many years it had been.

A knock on the bathroom door startled Keats. He opened it and saw Hemingway.

"They're here," he said. "Think you should come down."

In the kitchen were Flak, Cochise and one other man, laughing and chatting with some of the same people that they'd held at gunpoint only a couple of hours prior. They had just set up the stew pot, and Katie and Duck were scooping small bowls of it for everyone.

Flak was talking to Jamie, leaning against the wall like he was at a frat party. The only thing missing was a red plastic cup in his hand.

Keats and Hemingway stood at the staircase like disapproving parents, but eventually Keats went to get some stew. He brought a bowl for Hemingway, who didn't want it, but Keats insisted.

After everyone had been served, Keats announced: "Thanks very much for this. I think we need to keep the house closed for tonight, though. We've got a lot we need to talk about."

"We're just trying to be friendly," said Cochise.

"I know that, and that's nice of you. But we've been on the road a long time. Half of us still got mud all over us. So socializing will have to wait until tomorrow, when we see Marco -"

"You think he's some kind of dictator?" said Cochise. "If we decide to mingle a little bit with you guys, he's OK with it." His pushed his brow so far forward that it partly covered his eyes. "As long as we don't hurt you."

Hemingway strode forward, the floorboards creaking as he did so. He stopped two inches from Cochise and stood eye-to-eye with him. "You got a boss, we got ours. And he wants you to go."

Cochise pressed against him like a boxer at a weigh-in. "When's the last time you fought someone that wasn't already dead?"

"You think we've lived this long playing pushover?" said Hemingway.

"Enough," said Flak, and Cochise relaxed a little. At the same time, Keats put his hand on Hemingway's shoulder and pulled him back.

"You want us to go, we'll go," said Flak.

The third man with them, whose name was Joseph, said, "Eat the rest of the stew. You need it, and there's no way to refrigerate it, anyway."

He turned to leave. Katie looked disappointed.

"Wait just a minute here," said Jamie. "Flak's going to stay a while." Her voice had the same lilt of constant sarcasm that was so popular among teenagers before the outbreak. Keats had once marveled at how such an accent could surive the apocalypse, especially since she'd come of age in a shelter.

"You gotta be joking," said Hemingway. "No way. We don't know this guy from Adam -"

"We? Who's we? Me and him were in the middle of a conversation. If you don't want him around, we'll go in one of the rooms and continue there."

"Hell no. We are not allowing you -"

"Allow?! You're not going to 'allow' me to talk to someone? My parents got eaten a long time ago, mister. I can do whatever the hell I want."

"She's right," said Keats.

Hemingway turned and looked at him with a confused expression.

"She's right," Keats said again. "Let her visit with him. They can take the side bedroom while the rest of us talk about our plans."

Hemingway started to say something else but relented. Cochise smirked and left. Joseph followed him after saying goodbye.

Jamie and Flak walked towards one of the bedrooms. Stuffed inside it were dishes, clothes, electronics, and other various crap that gets left behind after a quick exit. Jamie went to shut the door but Keats grabbed it.

"Leave it cracked," he said. Jamie rolled her eyes but relented.

Everyone else gathered in the living room and went over the last couple of hours' whirlwind of events. They spoke quietly, mindful of Marco's man being in the other room.

"I trust them," said Tommy. "You see what they're doing in this camp. Gardens, trying to clean things up. They wouldn't do that if they were bad people."

"What the hell makes you think that?" said Duck. He was a short, stocky man who was a mechanic in his former life. "Maybe they'll make us do the shit jobs and they'll be the kings."

"That's called earning your keep," said Tommy. "I'll work for stew and shelter. Better than running around the woods sleeping in trees."

"Agreed," said Katie. "What's the harm in staying a while?"

A white-light scream shook everyone from their seats. It had come from the bedroom.

Keats was the first one there. He gripped his bat halfway up as he rushed in through the door.

Flak stood there holding his nose. "Fucking bitch," he said.

"I told you to stop, asshole," said Jamie.

Keats stepped between them. Hemingway and Pike entered the room and looked ready to rip Flak in half.

Suddenly the front door flew open and Cochise stormed in with a rifle at his side. Some of Keats' group screamed or shouted No.

"What the hell is this," said Cochise.

"She was leading me on," said Flak, "but hey. It's OK. Just a little rough housing." He glanced at his hand and the small amount of blood that had come from his nose.

"I thought all you guys wanted to do was socialize," said Hemingway.

"Oh please," said Katie. "She dragged him in there. And you can see what kind of mouth she has on her."

"I think the best thing to do," said Keats, "is for everyone to just go home."

"We gotta teach him a lesson," said Hemingway.

"No, it's OK, please," said Jamie. She sniffled. "Just leave, OK? Just get out."

Flak began to leave. "Believe what you want," he said. "But I'm not a rapist. She's the one who freaked out." He paused like he was going to say more but instead walked out the front. Cochise followed him, walking backwards.

As soon as they left, Keats closed the door, locked it, and moved the ancient, mildewed sofa in front of it. Then he pushed a table in front of the back door and designated which windows everyone was to climb out of in case of an emergency.

Pike tried to talk to Jamie, but she refused. She slammed the door, and they let her keep that room to herself.

"That settles it for me," said Pike. "I think we need to leave - now. No telling what they're getting ready for."

"That's just what they expect," said Hemingway. "I think we should lure someone in here for hostage."

"Are you crazy?" said Tommy. "What happened there - Marco will handle that. He respects us. Why else would he feed us? We'll tell him our beef. We'll let Jamie say what happened, when she's ready."

"It's only fair to Flak, too," said Katie. Pike glared at her, but she stayed firm. "It's not like we know iher/i that well, either."

There was a knock on the back door. Everyone hushed nervously.

"Who is it," yelled Keats.

"Bart."

"Who?"

"Bart! You asked my name and I told you!" The voice sounded like it belonged to a 12-year-old boy.

Two of them moved the table away while everyone else prepared to fight. They opened the door and saw not a boy but a woman, early 20s, who stood about five feet tall and looked like an elf in her faded black hoodie. She had a smooth wooden plank piercing her nose and a homemade tattoo of a hammer and sickle on her upper cheek. She held a pillow case full of something in her hands.

"I heard there were some females here," she said. She placed the bag on the other side of the door. "That's some, uh, hygiene stuff. Also some toilet paper. That one's for the girls AND guys."

Pike chuckled. "Thanks. You had us worked up, though, banging on the back door like that."

"Sorry. There's sort of a curfew. Why'd the big man rush inside?"

"He forgot his chew toy," said Keats. "You wanna come inside?"

"No thanks. Gotta run!" She darted away like a cartoon.

"Wait," said Pike, who ran outside. "Can we trust these guys-?"

But she'd already disappeared into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

The square mile of town that Marco had fenced off had a building in the center: A church.

This was not an accident, Joseph explained as he escorted Keats' group from their shelter. It was mid-morning and the heat was starting to make itself known.

The church, he said, was one of the few buildings with a basement. It also had lots of square footage for gatherings and, if need be, a final stand against invaders.

"What about God?" said Duck. "Or did people give up on him a long time ago?"

"People can worship here, sure," said Joseph. "One of our residents is a pastor, and I believe there are a couple of Jewish folks among us. In the end, it all comes back to love, right?"

"That's the second time I've heard something like that," said Keats. "I don't think everyone here follows that 'love' doctrine."

"I heard about that," said Joseph. "We'll get to the bottom of it, I promise you."

"So is this a regularly scheduled service?" said Keats.

"Not exactly. This was something Marco called together at the last minute, once you all showed up. He figured it would be a good time to 'gather the flock,' as it were."

They rounded a corner and the church came into view. It was a majestic building, with a giant spire on top of a belfry. Marco's men had done a good job of keeping it all clean, considering what they likely had to work with.

The inside was even more impressive. The crucifix behind the altar looked newly painted. The pews had all been polished and the sunlight beamed in like a colorful flood. The only thing that looked out of place was a large wooden octagon. Keats guessed that it was the base of a soon-to-be constructed statue.

Duck crossed himself and prayed. "It might be a Baptist church," he said, "but it's close enough."

People began to walk inside and fill the pews. Unlike yesterday, when almost everyone Keats saw was armed and male, this was a more diverse group both old and young, men and women.

Before long, almost every seat was full. Except for the rifles some of them had propped up on the benches, it felt like a normal Sunday service, pre-apocalypse.

Jamie walked down the aisle and sat next to Keats without saying anything. She stared at the ground until Keats asked if she was OK.

"Fine," she said. "Just embarrassed."

"For defending yourself?"

"Look," said Jamie, "for the record? I don't think we should write this whole shelter off just because of that one prick. At least he stopped when I punched him. Walkers don't."

Keats' group had been on the highway, making their way by foot to the Appalachians, when they met Jamie. She and her older cousin, Margaret, had run into them after escaping a swarm of walkers.

"Help," said Jamie, "you have to help us."

"Are they behind you?" said Keats.

"No, her," said Jamie, and Keats saw the huge red splotch spreading under a shirt tied to Margaret's arm.

Margaret was pale and close to fainting. Hemingway laid her down on the grass while someone else gave her some water.

"Was she bit?" said Keats.

Jamie nodded. "The shelter we were at - they overran it. They'd been at the fence for weeks. The guards, the soldiers, they ran out of bullets. She got bit saving me. She put her arm in front of one of them before it could attack me."

Pike gestured towards the woods where Jamie had emerged. "You know how persistent walkers are," she said to Keats. "We need to go."

"Please, you have to help her," said Jamie. "Amputate her arm. Can't you do that? I've seen them do that before. I know you can do that."

Margaret began to lose consciousness as Keats pulled Jamie away. "I'm sorry but you have to say goodbye," he said to her. She screamed, tears pouring down her face, as Keats struggled to hold her back.

Back at the church, Keats was about to tell Jamie that he wasn't to give up on this place, either, when someone turned around and shushed him. Everyone else fell silent as a beautiful woman walked in from a vestibule. She had Lady on a leash and sat down at a reserved seat in a front pew.

Soon after, Marco walked out to loud applause. He wore a dress shirt similar to the one he had on yesterday except now he also wore a tie. His gun was still there, sitting in its holster.

He walked to the pulpit, waving and smiling at the crowd, who was still clapping. Eventually he had to gesture for them to settle down, but he waited a while to do it.

"Thank you," he said, booming his voice like an old theater actor. "So how are we today? Are we hungry?"

"NO-SIR!" said nearly the whole crowd in unison. They said the words quickly, like taps on a snare drum. The only people silent were in Keats' group.

"Are we weary?"

"NO-SIR!"

"Are we pushing back against the hatred that's trying to overcome this earth?"

"YES-SIR!"

"And how are we doing this?"

"LOVE!"

"Absolutely right! We've got a love here that keeps us safe, but we're going to turn it into a love that conquers. A love that destroys, with holy blessings, the corruptible evil outside those fences."

There were a few random shots of "Amen!" and "Yessir!" throughout Marco's speech. Keats looked at Jamie, who rolled her eyes.

"And lest you think we have to do it ourselves," said Marco, "we received a most holy blessing yesterday. We received, with open arms, a group of pilgrims who traveled here because they know this is where the battle begins to take back the earth!"

"What the hell?" Hemingway muttered under his breath. "We were looking for bug repellant, not on some fucking pilgrimage."

"Let's just see where this goes," said Keats.

"As if we have a choice."

"Yesterday, I talked to their leader," said Marco. "A fine man who I trust quite a bit. Sure, their road-weary and haggard. We should all remember how fortunate we are to be protected here.

"But this man - Keats is his name - I could sense it in him. I could sense the love. The grand love that destroys evil!"

Katie sat in the row ahead of him. She turned back to Keats and smiled.

"LOVE is what the undead hate. LOVE is what can cure the sickness. LOVE is what keeps them away from our fence. LOVE -"

"Bullshit," yelled a voice. The church hushed like a hermetic door sealing an air lock.

It was Hemingway. He stood up. Several of Marco's men reached for their weapons but their leader raised his hand to still them.

"You can hug and kiss your way out of one of those swarms? I lost my whole family, who I loved. I lost my whole platoon, who I loved. They got ripped apart and eaten. Love didn't do a thing for them."

Marco locked eyes with him. His gaze was soft, not challenging. "You're right," he said. "For a long time, hate was stronger than love. How could now be different?

"It's because the love here flows as one. All our love comes together like strands on a rope. And who's threading it together? Who unifies the love?

"Let me be frank: I did not ask to be chosen. I never sought out enlightenment. Never wanted to be special. I was just a corporate stooge when the world ended. Woke up for work one day and the Army was going door-to-door, evacuating people.

"But not long ago - just after I arrived here, back when it was just a few boarded-up homes and some guys with a stash of guns - something happened. I had an epiphany, not just of the mind but of the soul."

Marco started unbuttoning his shirt. The crowd seemed to know where this was headed, and they stopped glowering at Hemingway and cheered and hooted for Marco instead.

"I was lost!" said Marco, undoing each button with stage musical flourishes. "I was loveless! I was weak! And when a walker got into the camp, I wanted to cower and hide. One walker, can you believe it? But then a flame entered my heart and grew into a fire. I charged that evil beast and fought it hand to hand -"

The front of his shirt was now completely unbuttoned. He reached back for his shirt and whipped it off in one furious movement.

"- and it did this!"

Everyone in Keats' group gasped, while everyone in the crowd frowned and shook their heads as if reliving a great tragedy. From Marco's left shoulder down to his wrist was a deep groove of brownish pink scar tissue. It looked like half his arm was missing.

"Lord, what pain. And I had no idea they were so strong! I struggled, kicked it with my legs, but it just tore into my arm like a drumstick. When they finally got it off of me, its face was so red with my blood that I couldn't help but faint. My last thought was a hope that they would put a bullet in my brain so I wouldn't come back as one of those things.

"But then, however many hours later, I woke up. The doctor who stitched me up, may she rest in peace, said she did it out of instinctual obligation. No way I would survive. But I did. They tied me up and kept me under guard for a whole month, and I never turned.

"It was the flame that kept me alive. The flame of love."

There was a commotion as the doors to the church opened and two huge men, Cochise among them, escorted a struggling figure down the center aisle. The captor's hands had been bound and a black hood covered his head.

"And my love protects you, too," said Marco as his men brought the captor before him. "That is, if you're willing to accept it."

He yanked the hood off the prisoner. It was Flak. Gone was his sexy demeanor. He looked panicked.

"What the fuck is this all about?" he said.

"There may come a time when our love needs to be tested," said Marco. "John 'Flak' Watt, you've been a good soldier. You work hard. But last night, something happened that tested your commitment. Your love."

"Goddammit, it was a stupid, little thing! Nothing happened!"

Lady jumped up and began to whine and scratch at the floor.

Flak's eyes widened. "Tell him!" he yelled towards the crowd. "Tell him I didn't hurt you!"

The door to the church basement opened. A large man walked backwards out of it while holding a pole waist-level. At the other end of it, a walker had its torso wrapped in burlap with the first pole attached to it and two more attached to people behind it.

The walker was not one of the decade-old rotters that could barely crawl through the weeds; it had turned recently, and looked to have been a pretty well-sized man before death arrived.

Jamie stood up."He's right!"she said. "He doesn't - he doesn't deserve that! I punched him and he stopped!"

"Dear girl, you've got a heart of gold," said Marco. "But Flak here will be perfectly fine, since I'm confident that his love is pure."

Marco stepped down and sat in one of the first pews. Like a well-directed stage play, several groups of people came out from side doors and positioned the wooden structure that Keats thought was a statue base. In fact, it was a fighting ring.

Flak now stood ten feet from an undead beast that was missing half the skin on its face. He could see its teeth grinding to dust as it snarled at him.

"Since you've been a fine lieutenant," said Marco, "there won't be any handicaps. Just one on one, you and the former Mr. Lane here. Remember, you love and you are loved. A bite means nothing to one whose love is pure! I'm proof of that."

Before anyone else could protest, Marco stepped aside and nodded to the guards. They twisted the poles, which unlatched them from the vest and set the creature free.

Flak was a good fighter. He'd been a cop when the outbreak happened, and when he'd run out of bullets, he'd use his billy club to bash his way out of close encounters.

But this was different. He had no room to maneuver, to duck and dodge. He expected the walker to charge straight at him, which it did, but he wasn't expecting the quickness with which it seized his hair and chomped down on his shoulder.

His scream pierced the silence of the church. Many of the onlookers covered their eyes. Marco, however, yelled, "You can still get him! Pop your leg back!"

Amazingly, Flak heard him and swung his leg back like a mule. He knocked the walker off balance and threw him to the ground. Then, while grasping his wound, he stomped on its head until it collapsed into mush.

Blood streamed from between Flak's fingers as he pressed down on the bite and looked out into the crowd with a look of fear. "Help," he said.

"I have helped you," said Marco, ducking into the ring. He clasped Flak by the shoulder. His lieutenant winced and screamed. "The love I've shown you will heal that wound." Then, to his soldiers: "Take him to rest."

An older woman in one of the pews stood up and began clapping rhythmically. She began a hymn, one that Keats, never much of a church goer, didn't recognize. But apparently, it was a popular one, as nearly everyone in the church joined her in song:

God's got a great big love

We got a great big God

Gotta love God cause we gotta stay good

So we gotta open up our arms

Duck and Katie clapped as well. Keats nudged Hemingway and started clapping. The rest of the group followed his lead.


	6. Chapter 6

There were probably lots of cults in the world nowadays, thought Keats. Seeing the dead rise and eat the living reinforced a belief in the supernatural, and who knows how many people were just going through the motions of prayer and devotion in order to get food and protection.

But Marco's people wore expressions of genuine love. Maybe it was a good love. Keats had never seen anyone survive a walker bite, not without amputation.

He went outside into the yard. Sitting in an old car was their minder/guard/spy. He nodded to him and walked out into the street.

It was twilight. The air was not much cooler than the day's and the mosquitoes were beginning their shift. He saw a person on a bicycle and two people working in a garden, but most of the population seemed to live closer to the center, near the church.

After cutting through a couple of yards, he came to the fence that encircled the compound. It was about ten feet tall and topped with barbed wire. A hundred yards down the line was a guard tower made out of an old bucket truck. Someone inside it stood with a rifle on his hip.

From far in the woods came a scream. It was high-pitched and forced, like a song off key. It was not the scream of someone caught by a walker, but it was unsettling nonetheless.

A Rottweiler ran up from the brush beyond the fence and bashed against it. He growled and snarled at Keats but didn't bark.

Keats squatted to get eye level with him. Before Lady, he hadn't seen a dog since before the outbreak. If there were any stray packs, they stayed far away from people.

This wasn't a stray. His coat was clean and black, his body stout and healthy.

"How do you survive out here, buddy?" said Keats.

The dog bashed the fence and gave a low, quick bark.

Keats stood up and walked backwards as the dog stared and growled. He reached the back fence and was about to hop over it when something seized his arm.


	7. Chapter 7

Convincing Bart to come in the house and repeat what she'd said to Keats in the woods wasn't easy.

"You think I want the love test?" she said. "Or sent to Siberia?"

Eventually, though, she agreed to do it. The information, Keats said, needed to come from a long-time resident. He also wasn't sure that everyone would believe him.

"It wasn't a walker that bit Marco," she said. "I was here when it happened. There was this guy, William. He was always strange. One day he just lost it. Chomped down on Marco's arm like it was a turkey leg."

"I've seen people alive one second and turn the next," said Tommy. "Maybe he had a stroke and dies right there, standing up, then turns."

"When they yanked him off, he was still babbling and talking about the end of days. He wasn't dead."

"You said 'they,'" said Hemingway. "Why hasn't anyone else told the truth about what happened?"

"They've all gone away, one by one. They went out on runs and didn't return. Or a walker surprised them in their sleep."

"No witnesses," said Keats. "Except for you."

"I was upstairs in one of the houses," said Bart. "I saw it from the window."

"You've never told anyone else?" said Hemingway. "Why us?"

"Because I want to get the fuck out of here. The people here are as mindless as the things out there. You saw them, how they break into fucking song when someone gets their neck ripped into."

"You could play along if that's all it was," said Pike. "We all could. It's not like Flak was completely innocent."

"You think that was about her?" said Bart, pointing to Jamie. "Flak didn't get the love test because he tried to rape you. He got it because he violated one of the biggest rules here. Marco gets first dibs on all the females."

Jamie's face curled like this news made her sick.

"Well fuck that then," said Pike. "We're busting out of here."

"They're not going to let you leave like that," said Bart. "But there's another way. You know what Siberia is? How they keep walkers away from the fence? It's a shack out in the woods. If you fall out of favor with Marco and need rehabilitation, you get sent there to make noise all day and draw walkers."

"Jesus," said Keats. "How do they keep them from busting down the door?"

"There's concrete slabs along every wall and door. The only way in is through a storm drain access. Goes to a hatch 100 feet away. The people there get a supply run every month that way."

"You think he'd trust us to make the run?"

"If you earn it," said Bart.

"So," said Pike, "we stick around for a couple months until he gets to know us and trust us. No big deal, except for the women get raped."

"There's another way," said Bart. "The love test."


	8. Chapter 8

Early one morning, about a year after the outbreak, Hemingway was sleeping in a small cave on the side of a cliff when something hit him in the face. Startled, he sat straight up and nearly fell out of his hole.

Twenty feet below him stood a scar-faced man holding a handful of stones. He had two other people with him, and they all looked the same: Filthy flannel shirts, holey jeans cinched with rope, and gaunt faces.

"Sorry," said the scar-faced man. "A rude way to wake up, I know. My name's Teddy. This here's Curtis and Bobby."

"Why should I not take out my rifle and make a new entrance on the top of your head?" said Hemingway.

"Sorry again, but we got it already." Curtis held up Hemingway's assault rifle by the barrel like it was a stage prop.

Christ, thought Hemingway. They must have scaled up the cliff and gotten it while he was asleep. That's what he got for going too long without rest - he slept so hard he didn't hear the danger, and now it was too late. But then why -

"Why not just kill me then."

"We're not like that," said Teddy. "But we do need to survive. So we figured, you look pretty healthy. Maybe you can show us where your food stash is?"

"Well," said Hemingway. "I'd rather share what I got than -"

The edge gave way as Hemingway shifted his weight. He tumbled down the side of the cliff in a whirl of rock and dust and slammed into the ground face first.

"Oh shit," said Teddy as he walked over. "I think he's dead."

He was not. Hemingway pushed himself up, hung there like a drunk, then suddenly vice-gripped Teddy's windpipe, crushing it. Then he limped over to Curtis, who was trying desperately to figure out the AR-15. Hemingway yanked the gun from his hand and clobbered him with it. In his peripheral vision, he saw Bobby's running at him with a knife, so he spun his leg around, tripped him, and stomped his face in.

The fall hurt Hemingway more than the fight afterwards. He had to camp out at that cave for a week before he could fully move again, and in the meantime his former robbers turned into walkers and nearly spotted him.

Hemingway told all this to Keats, Pike, and Tommy the morning after Bart's revelations. He said it matter-of-factly, as if relaying directions to a store, and he either didn't care about or notice the looks of disquiet on his friends' faces when he told them how brutally he had killed these people who sounded more pathetic than threatening.

"And since then," said Hemingway, "I've killed others, and I couldn't even count all the walkers I've put down. So this love test? No problem. But it's afterwards that worries me. What if he won't let us make the supply run?"

"Bart says it's a shit job," said Keats. "Marco needs volunteers for it."

"What about Katie and Duck?"

"We need to talk to the them," said Tommy. "See what they're like before we tell them what Bart said about Marco."

"I think Katie's love is pure," said Hemingway.

"We owe it to her to find out for sure," said Keats, "but I think you're right. She'll probably be staying."

"The best way," said Hemingway,"would be to do some countersurveillance, cut a guard's throat, and rip through the fence. But we'll try your way first."


	9. Chapter 9

Behind the town home, Jamie sat in a swing. It squeaked lightly as she slumped forward and wrote in a notebook on her lap.

Keats took the swing next to her. "What are you writing?"

She didn't respond right away, which made Keats feel more like an annoying parent than a rebel leader in a post-apocalyptic zombie stronghold. He regretted invading her privacy, but he needed to let her know about their plans.

"Diary?" he guessed.

"God no," she said. "Like it or not, I won't ever need help remembering this place. It's fiction. I've had ideas in my head for as long as I can remember."

"And now you've finally got time to write them down."

She shrugged. "We could get eaten tomorrow. I wanted to leave something in case things ever get back to normal."

Keats realized that she'd grown a few inches taller since he rescued her a month ago. Her jeans now stopped above her ankle, so he made a note to rummage through the upstairs rooms for some clothes, which once again made him feel like an overbearing parent.

"Can I read some?" he said.

He expected her to decline but she was eager to share it. The opening scene featured a police officer driving his car underwater.

"It's good," he said, "but you know they couldn't do that, right?"

"Really?"

"But it's a story, so you can make it do what you want."

"I want it to be realistic, though," she said, suddenly angry. "There was this idiot at the shelter where I was raised. I knew he was full of shit."

Keats watched her scribble some angry notes about her story. "You know we have to leave here," he said.

"No kidding. I don't want to get passed around like a toy and I don't want to worship that freak."

"Can you pretend to, though?"

She looked down and kicked the dirt as she swung over it. "Are you going to make me hang out with him?"

Keats hesitated. "Not by yourself," he said. "But if you can manage to hide your disgust a little bit..."

She jumped off the swing and held her hand out impatiently. Keats realized she wanted her notebook, sohe gave it to her, then she stormed off.

Yes, thought Keats. Just like a parent, only with less authority.

It was going to be Pike's job to talk to Katie and Duck and see if they could be saved from the savior.

She had her doubts about Katie, who looked eager to peel her jeans off for Marco already. But Duck's case was tougher. He was intelligent, but he didn't turn away from the horror inflicted upon Flak in the Church. Should she write them both off as lost causes, or did she have a moral obligation to tell them what Bart had revealed about the town's leader?

For now, she was going to train. She stood in the yard, no birds in the trees as the cool wind portended a change in weather. The clouds looked sick and congested as she snapped her spearhead from her sleeve into her palm while at the same time slipping a wooden pole from a sling on her back.

In less than a second she'd attached the spearhead to the pole. She swung, jabbed, and slashed her spear at invisible enemies around her. She backflipped onto a low-slung tree branch. Improvising her routine, she believed, was key to staying sharp.

But sharp she wasn't. She slipped and fell to the ground. She was lying on top of her spear when she heard the crunching of twigs as something moved through the brush. She tried to spring to her feet but it was too late. A large silhouette appeared above her.

It was Cochise, his bald head slick with early rain, his smile a showcase of ruinous teeth. "Those are some moves you got," he said. "You do more than just fight?"


	10. Chapter 10

When he saw the walker, Hemingway got scared.

Of course he'd seen and killed plenty of them, but he took his body armour for granted. Now, dressed only in jeans and tee shirt, he thought about how it only took a small scratch to become infected.

The walker itself unsettled him as well. It was Flak.

Dried blood matted his golden hair to one side of his head. His ravenous eyes glimmered with what looked like tears. If there were such a thing as a soul, it still clung to him, mournful and furious.

"You can see his sadness, can't you," said Marco. "I tried hard to love this man." He gestured for Flak's handlers to position him into the fighting ring.

"He refused my love. But you, Hemingway, have not. I can see it."

Hemingway had considered trying to mimic the starry gaze that Marco's followers had. He decided that he'd be more believable if he maintained his stoic expression and simply nodded.

"And I have no doubt you could pass the love test," said Marco. "You're a big, powerful man, and I heard about your exploits outside of town."

There was a commotion in the crowd. Guards hustled Keats from the pews to the front of the pulpit. They stripped his shirt off. Underneath it was a boney chest and a nearly concave stomache.

"What the hell is this," said Hemingway.

"A love test should be just that," said Marco, "a test. You'd mince the former Mr. Flak here in a split second. But your leader here, why, he's not much more than a bag of bones. Skinny before the outbreak and positively skeletal since then, right? But love can provide all the strength he will need."

There was more shouting from the crowd. Marco's tone turned brittle as he continued speaking.

"For others among us, however, there need not be a test, but a pennance. It saddens and enrages me to report that we have a piece of filth traitor in our flock."

Two guards brought Bart foward and held her right outside the fighting pen. Flak was practically running in place against his constraints.

"She didn't do anything," said Keats.

A new voice from the crowd rose up. "You don't have to lie." It was Tommy.

"She planted that seed of doubt," he said. "Lied to us about Marco. Tried to use us so she could escape. To what? She's so blind by hatred that she doesn't even have a plan. Just keep running and running -"

"You rat piece of shit," said Hemingway as he lunged at Tommy. A guard hit him with a rifle butt and pionted it at him until he stood down.

"You're a good man but too weak to lead," Tommy said to Keats. "But Marco understands. He likes you. Loves you. You'll pass this love test and everything will be OK."

"And before the test," said Marco, "comes the pennance. Bart's last moments shall be spent being devoured by Flak here. We'll tie her up just in case she has more fight in her than it looks. After that, you should be able to pass the test with no problem. Walkers don't have the same, ah, bite to them when they've had a meal. Excuse the pun."

He signaled to the guards, who tried to tie Bart's hands together but were having problems. She headbutted one of them in the nose, sending a stream of blood shooting across the floor. Flak reached towards it in hunger.

Two more of Marco's men jumped in and grabbed Bart's legs. As she kicked and screamed, Pike maneuvered from the pews to the aisle where she had a clear shot. She took her spearhead and hurled it like a dagger into the neck of one of the guards.

Someone raised a rifle at her. "You - you're fucking dead!" he said, but he stood dumbfounded as Pike unveiled another dagger and flung it into his eye. Everyone else froze. Even Marco had no words.

Several other people raised their rifles and looked at their leader for answers. People in the back of the church ran towards the exits. Someone with a machete swung it at Hemingway, who grabbed his wrist and flung him like a sack into the fighting ring.

Flak's handlers couldn't hold him any longer. He broke free from his constraints and fell upon the machete-wielder, who shrieked in agony.

Chaos broke out. Keats grabbed Pike by the arm as she moved about the scrum, bashing Marco's men in their heads and dodging their counterattacks. "What the hell is this?" he said.

"No bullets," she said. "Their guns don't work."

Someone slashed Hemingway's arm with a bayonet. Hemingway lunged at him but missed. When he turned around, Cochise had shoved his finger so far up the man's nasal cavity that he pierced his brain.

"You gotta work on your quickness," said Cochise, smiling.

"What the fuck," said Hemingway.

Pike yelled out, "He's with us."

There were more screams from the back of the church as people surged back inside. They began to barricade the doors, even as more townspeople beat on them desperately to be let back in.

"Walkers!" said an older man with blood streaming down his face. "About twenty of them right outside the church!"

Marco's men stopped fighting and circled around their leader, who had retreated to the pulpit. Some of the townspeople ran towards the basement door for safety, but when they opened it, two walkers, both former residents who had failed the love test, burst out and attacked them.

Keats, Pike, Cochise, Hemingway and Jamie hastily gathered by a wall. "Who else is with us?" said Hemingway.

"Duck's outside," said Pike. "He's the one who cut the fence."

Keats stuttered in anger. "This wasn't how it was supposed to happen."

"Will you look at these people?" said Hemingway. Although many of the townspeople panicked, there were several, Katie among them, who kept a cool demeanor as they piled chairs on the doors and gathered weapons. Others, their faces glowing with religious exstacy, put down the walkers that were inside the church.

Keats looked towards the pulpit and caught Tommy's eye. Tommy raised a shaking finger at him and shouted, "You! You infected this church with hate!"

Marco emerged from behind him and lifted his revolver. The information Cochise gave to Pike wasn't entirely correct; there was still one gun left in the compound that was loaded.

Marco fired at Keats. Jamie pushed him out of the way and grunted as the bullet pierced the flesh between her neck and shoulder.

"Jesus!" said Pike as she grabbed the girl and pressed her hand on the wound. Marco aimed for a second shot but was pushed by his own men towards the basement, which had finally been cleared of walkers.

Hemingway gathered the unconscious Jamie in his arms. Pike climbed a pew and smashed a window. Jagged plates of stained glass crashed to the floor around them.

Cochise was the first over the wall. He helped everyone else down just as a group of five walkers noticed them.

Hemingway charged and clotheslined them into a pile, allowing Pike to guide the group down the street towards their escape. Before they could turn the corner, she heard a bullet rush by her head.

Marco had escaped through the outside basement door. He leveled his weapon to fire again but one of his lieutenants pulled him back before an unseen walker could seize him.

"God's vengeance is firm and cruel!" he yelled as he shook off his guard and fired again.

Keats and the others ran, crouching, down another street and through several yards to the place where Pike had arranged for Duck to cut a hole in the fence. It turned out to be the same hole where the walkers had entered.

Next to the hole was a pile of red bones and torn clothes. Keats recognized the shirt; it was Duck's.

"Goddammit," said Pike. "They surprised him. How did they know to enter here?"

"We'll have to worry about it later," said Hemingway.

He was right. A walker, moving with a speed they'd never before encountered, burst from the brush and nearly clawed into Keats. Pike went to grab a weapon from a bag stashed nearby but the walker was on the attack again.

As it struck towards Hemingway, who still had Jamie in his arms, the same rottweiler Keats encountered earlier sprung out and pulled the walker to the ground. Pike then drove a hammer into its brain.

Bart whistled and her dog bounded towards her, tongue wagging. "My ace in the hole," she said. "Don't worry, he's a sweetie."

On the other side of the fence, Pike binded the hole closed with wire.

"We don't have time for that," Hemingway said.

"There's innocent people here," she said.

"It's not a matter of -" Cochise cut him off by grabbing his shoulder. Hemingway almost headbutted him before he saw that he wanted him to lower Jamie to the ground.

Marco's former top lieutenant looked at Jamie's neck. "There's an exit wound," he said. "We'll need a way to disinfect it but she's ok for now."

"So you're a doctor now?" said Hemingway.

"Nurse, actually. Thanks for asking."

The group moved further from the fence. The sounds of people shouting and walkers snarling came from the town but no one ever appeared. "Well," Keats said, covered in a sheen of sweat, still shirtless from the battle at the church.

"We're headed east from here," said Pike. "There's a county road about half an hour away. We can start a fire there and cauterize Jamie's wound."

Keats stared at the ground and said, "Thanks."

Jamie groaned. Hemingway relaxed some of the pressure he'd applied to her neck.

"We better get moving," said Cochise.

Bart's dog pointed his ears back and growled. Pike grabbed her hammer and looked towards the fence, but the rottweiler faced the other direction.

"Cute dog," said a voice.

Before anyone in the group could do anything, three men with handguns were upon them. They didn't look like anyone Keats had seen in the compound.

The man in the middle lowered his weapon. He was handsome like a soap opera villain, with dark curly hair and an eyepatch.

"What do you think, Carl?" said one of the others.

"I think we flushed out some folks who doubt their faith," said Carl. "Apostates."

"Wait," said Pike. "You sent walkers in there?"

"Amazing what a few sharks can do in a pool full of minnows," said Carl.

"You got our friend killed."

"You're one to talk. Ask that sicko leader of yours what he's done with our people."

"He's not our leader," said Keats. "I am. We're trying to get the hell out of here. Please, do you have a camp? Do you have alcohol, anything for wounds? She's not bit."

Carl looked at Jamie, then moved his lone eye to each person in the group. "Let's go," he said. "And shut that dog up."

Within the compound, the sounds of chaos began to silence.


End file.
